The Fear
by corneliusfudge
Summary: Enemies join, male shirts are ripped, and a serpent discovers a velvet voice.


The fear turned on the serpent and grabbed his shirt. Fears' talons ripped him from limb to limb, destroying his body, attempting to release his soul from what Fear saw as simply skin streched over solids, tightened over a product of a moment of passion between two people whose contrasting emotions have always been strong, bursting the mercury from the feelings scale, as it rushes up the glass pipe, from end to end, from loathing to love, from jelousy to contentment. But the victim of the fear wasn't concerned of his creation at that second recorded by quartz, simply a rock that weaves time and dominates humanity, he was concerned about The Fear - how it wrenched him from insides out, and blended together black and white, with the velvet touch that devoured the dragon, velvet on scale. And he began to sing, at first, softly and slowly, and with the timidness of the child he never was.  
But Here  
Closer every year  
So near  
  
He coughed. The walls echoed his song, and his cough, and he laughed, becoming more confident, shedding yet more meekness, and The Fear accomponied him, singing in harmony, laughing together and hearing music and joy echo from wall to wall, watching the river as it floated by, how it seemed to shimmer with vibrations, the colours reflecting the emotions of The Fear and the serpent, the Dragon. Fear didn't know why he was singing, it had been years, decades, since he had sung before... but somehow his dark voice emerged and he felt the sensation of his voice breaking once more, but it felt like it was breaking as a life prisoner would melt the bars of his cell, with slow satisfaction seeing the metal die, whilst knowing that maybe he would be free once more.  
  
The fear is coming closer  
My dear  
The Fear is here  
  
The moment was over. Neither The Fear or the dragon knew any more words, but they knew that that song they would remember for all of eternity, whoever they are if they are brought back by some mercy of God, wherever they are, if they are seperated or cast away, whenever it is, whether it be the past, present or future, they knew that that was imprinted on their soul and they'd never forget it. Not in a thousand years. Fear and the Serpent wanted the song to go on for ever, never to stop, to feel that rush of rebellious adreniline that streamed through their spines.  
  
"Oh, shit..." mused Draco, a rigid expression of terror on his face.  
"Drac...?"  
"What would you know? Just... just leave me alone, let me be, go away!" Draco fought back the blinding tears, 'bravely' trying to stop spluttering out words, wishing that Vin and Greg would just get out of his face, didn't they understand that dragons needed their space? Space to test their fire. Space to flick their tail and, most of all, space to think.  
"Yeh, but, mate, like, what do we go? Where do we do?"  
"Get out of my face, now, and go and practise the wizards friggin English somewhere."  
  
They went.  
  
"Hey, Vinny, what the hell d'ya thinks up with Drac?"  
"Mate, you know as well as I do that he likes his time alone, what with him being an only child, an' all."  
"Aye, but he's been going off a lot recently, if I didn't know better I'd say he's got a girlfriend," said Crabbe, glancing at Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, "and he's been really cold lately, too."  
"Well Crabbe," - he called him Crabbe either when other people were listening or when he wanted to annoy him - "you DON'T know better, so I'd keep mum, if I were you. MATE."  
"OK, GOYLE," - the same applied when the roles were reversed - "theres no need to shout." He was worried that someone had overheard; their argument had attracted a crowd. That happenned to include Harry Potter.  
"What you looking at? Potter? What are you and your soppy little girlfirend staring at? Can you not pull someone your own age?"  
"I don't see you walking round, a gorgous, intelligent girl on YOUR arm, Crabbe. You couldn't pull if you tried. Which, I think you're a piece of filth, a limpet, a cling-on, a..."  
"Harry," Ginny said under her breath, "I think its time we went, love." She gently led him away to his next class, telling him to 'breathe' and 'relax'.  
"For Gods sake, Ginny, give the meditation drill a rest, will you?"  
"I know - Harry, I just don't want you to do something you regret. I... I... its just that I'm worried about you, Harry."  
  
He knew she meant well, but he hated people feeling sorry for him.  
  
"I'm not an invalid, Ginny," he whispered, "I can take care of myself. And I won't be insulted, and neither will you, for as long as I live. Not in a thousand years.  
  
PAIN. Song. FEAR. A cavern, slime. Dripping.  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
  
Light. Blinding. A hideous face. Song. Its here. Help me! Its here. Its coming. Its COMING! Someone - anyone - help. Its advancing. Anybody! Its close now. I can feel its breath. The face is there. Its there. Its on me. I am beyond help.  
  
Someone screamed. A bloodcurdling scream of a man. Harry dropped to the floor, petified, cowering. Something brushed his back. Oh, God, God, help me, if there is a God, let it back off, just for a second, one second, thats all I ask, and then I can run. Please. I beg you. I need you to help me, God, if there is such thing as you, I need you. Its not going away. Its tounge is there, it is testing my face, smelling my hands, feeling my body, get it away! It is here. It is touching my skin, it is piercing my skin, it is going to kill me. I know. But it wants something before it can kill me. It is searching. What does it want? It needs something. I can feel it throbbing with energy, it needs something. Tell me what it needs, and I can deny it that for as long as I live.  
  
A thousand years  
A Thousand Years! Let me out, it needs time, thats what it craves.  
Explosion.  
Gone.  
Harry, its not gone forever.  
I know. But... what does it want?  
It wants time.  
Will it kill me if I give it time?  
I must leave you.  
No! Please! Don't leave me! Who are you.  
We will meet again.  
When? I need you!  
Silence. You have been through this before. Its coming closer..  
  
I will die upon a spear, I've always known, I do not fear . Since my eyes opened I had instinct like a spider spins a web - no-one shows it how, it just knows, its in its head. Don't throw yourself upon a spear, you've always known, you do not fear, but had you known that life would crash and burn like a lethal flower would you have sheilded your alibi so much that you could never step back. Paint over your bruises with skin coloured paint from an undercover dealer that spreads his coat and offers equipment to purify the soul, or so he calls it. You knew that the paint would peel off one day, and the wounds would still be there, but... for now... it will do. For you, my friend. My sport. You are the fox, and I am the hunter. And you must understand that! Voldemort will never accept second best - thats why he would rather the fox be poisoned and the skin intact, than a snipers shot from no-where. He wants it to suffer - and, my son, you will suffer until the day you die.  
  
Whats this crap? I'm sitting on the desk, something is in my head, interrogating me, taking out my brain and arranging the pieces, studying them and then conciously placing them back where they were before. And the thing is that haunts me is that I can't feel it, a brain doesn't have nerves, why does it need it? Whatever, whoever created us didn't know that evil would be scorching us with its touch, on our brains, shoving its nails deeper and deeper into the slime we consist of. Whether it was a blessing in that we didn't feel the mind-blowing pain of internal burns, or a curse in that we don't know what its doing, we can only use our sixth sense to deduct what is happening to us - I don't know. But I know that it is searching for something... but what, I don't understand..  
  
"Hermione..."  
"Go. Just go, Ron, out of my face, out of my hair, out of my way."  
"Please, I love you, want to be with you..."  
"Get out of my life! I can't even bear for you to touch me."  
"I just want to talk, set things straight, y'know?"  
"Talk about what? Set what straight? You called me a... a... a...something, Ron, I think that speaks for itself!"  
"I didn't mean it, its just I saw you and Harry there, and something just clicked in my head, you're meant for each other."  
"But thats where you're wrong, Ron. I was talking to him about," she paused uncomfortably, "about something thats none of your business. You think that I'd sleep with the first bloke that comes along, don't you? Well?" she pressed her face up against his, expectantly.  
"No, I do have some respect for you, you know, Herm, some kind of respect." Ron took advantage of their faces being so close and leant in, their lips touching for a brief moment, Hermiones face flickering with content before she realised who it was, and what he'd done.  
"Get a life. Like you'd have a chance with me."  
"A chance at what, exactly?"  
"You know... Ron..." she whispered erotically into his ear, "...stuff." With that, Hermione walked off, and when her back turned, passers-by noticed a small smile creeping across her face.  
"I'm getting total mixed signals here!" he shouted after her. But she didn't hear. She strided off down the corridor, paused to chat to a friend, and then dissapeared round the corner.  
He vowed to himself he was never gonna get involved with girls again. Not in a thousand years. He swore that. Nothing more that friendship with Hermione - if he could even salvage that. He was going to have to swallow his pride if he wanted to stay friends with Hermione. And Harry, at that. Yes, Harry - he was the easy(er) target. He'd tackle Herm later.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sequel on reviewed request. 


End file.
